


Ballad of a silent songbird

by Anvilrose



Series: Origins [1]
Category: (fyi thats dc), Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us, batfam - Fandom
Genre: (mostly), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Child Acquisition, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, BAMF Cassandra Cain, Bad Parent David Cain, Batdad, Batfamily (DCU), Batgirl - Freeform, Black Bat - Freeform, Bruce Wayne - Freeform, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne's A+ Parenting, Canon Compliant, Cass is a feral assassin child, Cass is a feral child, Cass needs a hug, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Cassandra Cain-centric, David Cain Bashing, Death, Gen, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Its an A for effort, Minor Original Character(s), Origin Story, Orphan - Freeform, Protective Siblings, She raised herself, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, So really, accidental daughter acquisition, also, and death as a person, as in character death, batkids, cass speaks asl, david cain's A+ parenting, except not really because she has a father, his name is, its really an F-, lil cassandra cain, period, srsly, there kids, with the help of bruce death and 2 braincells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anvilrose/pseuds/Anvilrose
Summary: Once, there lived a little girl with no name to call herself, who knew but a few things; and she loved them dearly. She knew the body, her father, the trainers, the room, and the sky. In her small world there was no room for hate. To hate was to give up one of her precious few, and if she were to do so, she thought she would go insane. So instead of hate, she learned to love, Love the damp smell of mold after a heavy rain, love the rough hands of the trainers as they sent punches that threw her across the room, love the knives, the guns, the punishments for noise. She was determined to survive, so she grew to love the pain. To say that she loved all these things, did not mean she did not favor some over others. She liked the teachers with pencils and dances over the ones with swords. She liked the light in the window more than she liked the darkness of the corners. But most of all the girl loved father, until she didn't.
Relationships: Athanasia Wayne & David Cain, Athanasia al ghul & David Cain, Cassandra Cain & Athanasia Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Athanasia al Ghul, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & David Cain, Cassandra Cain & Shiva, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain
Series: Origins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049498
Kudos: 23





	1. A watery grave

The water brushed against her heels as she flew along the corridor, desperate to escape the cold tide that threatened to swallow her whole. She had to get out--- She had to save the crew. Both thoughts called to her, fighting for dominance. 

She Took a second, It was a quick decision, she would rather die then leave someone to face the darkness alone, not again. 

She burst passed the galley just as the ship gave out, fully submerging the hold into the cold, dark, water. The tide rushed into the hallway nearly pulling her along in its wake. She only just managed to grab the edge of a door frame when she heard the cries.

“Help! Help!” 

She swum wildly. Plucking captives from the jaws of death and delivering them to the final clear staircase. 

It should have been simple, an in and out hijacking, but the captors chose to blow up the ship rather than surrender. 

She hated criminals. 

Especially dumb criminals.

More screams echoed through the hallway. It was a captor, not a hostage. Batman would tell her to leave it. But she couldn't, no, she wouldn't leave him. 

“Batgirl do you copy?” 

One click for yes

“The ships going down in about a minute, I need you back on deck.” 

2 clicks for no 

“Batgirl, everyone's accounted for.” 

2 clicks 

“Really? The captor? It's fine he's non-compliant, leave him!” 

Click, Click.

She let go of the frame. The rough edges of the wood slipped from her grasp as she got swept along with the tide. She slid wildly down the hallway as the ship careened to the side. With both hands she clutched to a grate, peering through to find the captor pulling frantically at a tipped filing cabinet that blocked the door. 

With a powerful kick she broke through, allowing him to swim freely towards the entrance. 

He was safe, everyone was accounted for. 

But She could not leave. She froze, all she could do was cling to the air vent and watch the water rise. 

She could leave

She should leave

She would not leave. 

Panic and exhaustion took hold. Would it really be that bad to die here? To succumb to the water? All her life it had haunted her, lapping at the edge of her heels, a constant presence in her mind. It was the giver and taker of her short life. Not quiet an enemy but never, never a friend. To die a hero's death, with Batman waiting above the surface, did not seem like such a bad thing. A much easier thing to do than swim all the way back up there. To allow the water to touch her for the sake of others was one thing, but to do it for herself? It seemed impossible. “Batgirl? Batgirl do you copy?”

Her hands clung to the grate. 

To move them was to die. 

She did not copy. 

“Batgirl? Batgirl?” His voice grew louder and she looked up. He was there, across the room clinging to the same frame that she had held on to only moments earlier. 

“Batgirl, come.” She could not 

“Move Cass! Come on, come with me!” She was stuck unable to live, yet somehow unable to let herself die. She didn't respond and he left, of course he did, she meant nothing, she was unlovable.

“Go!!” Her mind screamed. 

“Stay.” Her heart whispered.

She should leave, but why? This water had chased her; her entire life, If It was so insistent upon her death, she must deserve it. Oh, and to stay was so much easier. 

She would have stayed

she could have stayed.

If a hand had not brushed her leg. A pale, white, dead, hand. A captor who had died of his own violation. Crushed in his escape, by the same cabinet that nearly drowned his friend. Leaving only the pale white arm visible, it touched her again, gracing her calve gently. She looked down and fled, fast. Diving into the water she swam to the top deck. The ship was nearly fully submerged, she barely made it to the raft before it sank below the water, giving out a loud shriek before it disappeared below the inky black forever. 

She started to shake. The tingle of a better forgotten memory whispered in the back of her mind. She grasped the edge of the raft, allowing herself to be pulled up by Batman before collapsing onto the floor. 

White light danced across her vision like lanterns, flying in the wind, The lanterns….. She really began to shake, great trembling waves took hold of her boody and the world grew unsteady at her feet. The ground gave out, and she could faintly hear the whispers of a distant reality “Seizure….Completely silent….Weirdest crap I've ever seen….Batgirl? Batgirl? Batgirl it's your da..It's Batman, I need you to say something.”

A lifetime of memories waltzed in and out of her vision, it was a coordinated dance of life and death, swirling in a downward spiral, 

A window, A beach, Drowning, Gasping, Living, Dying, Pink dresses, a little sun hat and yellow ribbons, Dancing, A little girl with curly brown hair, Lanterns, A classroom, A kind smile and the smell of burning flesh, Death, Death, Death, More death, So much death, Far to much death, The docks, Her own death, A fall and blackness. 

* * *

She awoke to an empty boat, and a pair of silent white eyes staring at her. The police met them at the docks, and she waited in the nearby Batmobile as Batman talked. More silence and fretting on the drive back to the manor. She was too tired to do anything other than listen and allow herself to be carried and cared for like a child. For the first time since no man's land, the entire family gathered together at the manor.

Cass never got hurt, never got scared, never stumbled. Yet their pillar of strength had fallen, the facade of stone had crumbled to reveal a fractured china doll beneath. She was broken, worthless, a monster, she tried to warn them and she was hushed, now she was a failure. She deserved none of this, yet she didn't fight it and instead chose to drift off into the blissful darkness.


	2. Of repressed memories and hollow seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will write this fan-fiction until I die, or the FBI comes looking for me because of my murderous search history, and the fact that I studied maps of the middle east on google earth for hours. ether way, YOU CANT STOP MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

She was dreaming, she knew she was dreaming, but she couldn't wake up. 

She was trapped in the tides of her own nightmare, and with each passing moment, she became less and less aware of reality. How could it be a dream when she could taste the sweat on her lip? Feel the water pushing and pulling at her? She wanted to go back, back to the shore where she had played with her father, back to the shore where everything was safe, and she could feel the waves running between her toes as she crashed through the surf; but it wouldn't let her. It pulled her further out, where there was nothing to hold onto. Where the only thing left to do was sink, and watch the air float away from her forever, she was drowning in the tides of a hollow sea.

It was black, everything was black, and then it wasn't. 

She was dreaming, she thought she was dreaming, did she know she was dreaming? She was sure she had drowned...She  _ must  _ be dreaming. But yet again, how could it be a dream when she could hear the wind whistle? Feel the branches under her snap as she ran? There was a man chasing her, they were playing a game that always ended in pain. She was running towards the cliff face, determined to make it across the canyon. Maybe this time, if she made it, if she hid well enough, she would win the game and he would let her go. She made the jump, flying through the air and watching as the world fell out from under her.

Her dress billowed out around her as she ran. The pink silk brushing ever so gently against the tips of her fingers. She kicked off the hard black shoes that trapped her toes as she went. Loosening the straps, so that her feet popped out, and she could feel the rough rooftop under the pads of her feet. There was a man behind her, staring holes into her back as she ran, he thought she would come back. How silly! She wouldn't as long as she lived, she vowed to never go back. 

The world swirled around her, and she fell down through a dark hole, landing roughly on a pier. The sounds of shots and screams echoed through the night, she scrambled up to her feet and ran towards the sound, faintly registering the change from stone, to wood, and then nothing. 

The world flipped again but it was different, she was falling into the water. Held by strong arms, unable to free herself as she fell into the black murky depths, with only the sound of her own screams and water filling her lungs to comfort her.

* * *

The screams grew louder, and she was sucked back into reality. She rolled over onto her side as murky pond water and bile spewed out of her mouth. She struggled to breathe.

“Bruce is she okay?”

“Is she dead?”

“Her lips are blue!” 

“Cass? Cassie, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered and she looked up as Bruce’s face peered over her, worry etched into his brow. 

She stared at him drowsily, and it seemed to be enough. He yelled for the others to back up, and pulled her out of the mud. Wrapping her arms around his neck, and letting her head rest on his shoulder, he pressed her tightly to his chest and ran towards the manor, yelling for Alfred to get a fire ready. 10 minutes, and several lectures later, she sat in front of the fireplace, studying the flames like they could tell her all the answers. Maybe they could. She wasn't shure.

“Cass?” Steph whispered, reaching out hesitantly as if to touch her.

“What happened?”

She flinched and shock flitted across Steph's face. Cass was  **brave** , Cass was carved of  **stone** ,  Cass. Never. Flinched.

“A memory.”

"A memory?"

"Yes, one that is both new and old."

They sat in silence, a group of people linked only by their trauma, eager to ease the burden of the heaviest carrier.

“Was it the captor?”

Cass turned, Bruce stared at her expectantly, willing her to reply

“No, it was the water.”

“I thought you could swim?”

“Sometimes I can, I’m not so sure.”

They looked at her and she released a silent sigh. They deserved an explanation. Or maybe they didn't, but she wanted to explain.

She guessed the real question was where to begin.

“I-I-I..” she paused, the signs dying on her fingers, where to begin, where oh where to begin. She studied the faces who looked at her. 

There was Bruce, with his guilt, determined to make this his fault.

Steph, with her concern, desperate, to know what was wrong.

Dick was there too, arriving 5 mins earlier after getting an emergency alert.

Tim was curious.

Carrie, cautious. 

Damian, bored but intrigued.

She ducked her head, she couldn't meet those eyes, not now.

Maybe, after this night, never again.

Harper, Cullen, and Duke sat attentive as ever.

And Jason…..Jason was encouraging.

Jason who taught her language, Jason who built her book shelves when everyone said she would never read. Jason who translated books into drawn asl, and filled her room with stories she could escape into. Jason who would never make her talk, Jason who wanted her too.

She looked at Jason and started it like a story. It was just a story after all, like the ones he had read to her hundreds of times.

* * *

Once, there lived a little girl with no name to call herself, who knew but a few things; and she loved them dearly. She knew the body, her father, the trainers, the room, and the sky. In her small world there was no room for hate. To hate was to give up one of her precious few, and if she were to do so, she thought she would go insane. So instead of hate, she learned to love, Love the damp smell of mold after a heavy rain, love the rough hands of the trainers as they sent punches that threw her across the room, love the knives, the guns, the punishments for noise. She was determined to survive, so she grew to love the pain. To say that she loved all these things, did not mean she did not favor some over others. She liked the teachers with pencils and dances over the ones with swords. She liked the light in the window more than she liked the darkness of the corners. But most of all the girl loved her father, until she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, That happend, I regret nothing and everything. Also, as of the next chapter, I will start a cass tracker on my tumblr because things are about to get real heated. I'll try to stay consistent with updates but I'm a little adhd gremlin that enjoys hiding in caves so don't count on it! (That being said You will usually get around 2-ish chapters per week. If not, you can count on like an apologetic 7 chapter upload in about 2 days and 3 hours past an accceptable time to post something.)
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr! I will secretively answer questions about what will/won't happen next!: https://and-the-world-is-quiet-here.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> (Also, can someone please explain ao3 to me! Because one fic has 600 hits, and the better one has only like 200 hits, and Im confused plz send help.)


	3. The good times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dose this suck, yes. Am I gonna post it? You betchya!
> 
> (Oh!!! And I changed the name of the fic, don't @ me I'm weak)

Once, there lived a little girl with no name to call herself, who knew but a few things; and she loved them dearly. She knew the body, her father, the trainers, the room, and the sky. In her small world there was no room for hate. To hate was to give up one of her precious few, and if she were to do so, she thought she would go insane. So instead of hate, she learned to love, Love the damp smell of mold after a heavy rain, love the rough hands of the trainers as they sent punches that threw her across the room, love the knives, the guns, the punishments for noise. She was determined to survive, so she grew to love the pain. To say that she loved all these things, did not mean she did not favor some over others. She liked the teachers with pencils and dances over the ones with swords. She liked the light in the window more than she liked the darkness of the corners. But most of all, the girl loved father, until she didn't….until she didn't? 

Did she not love her father? The scent of smoke filled her nose and the carpet began to itch under her feet. It was too much, the smoke, the sounds, the scent of hot chocolate and the continuous thump of their heartbeats, each pounding in their own rhythm. She wanted to scream. She couldn't scream. Why? Why? Why, why, why, why, WHY? She was losing her grip on reality. She was looking back, back into things she shouldn't and it hurt.   
The iron tang of blood filled her mouth and she realized she had bitten through her lip, and reopened a very, very old wound. Why could she not remember getting it?   
Whispers echoed around her and she opened her eyes, surprised to see heads leering above her; their faces glowing in the light of the fire.   
When had she fallen on the floor?  
“Steph” her fingers were pale and wrinkly. Trembling ever so slightly as they moved through the signs.  
“Steph” she whispered   
“Im here, I'm here Cass.”  
She looked at Steph and thought how familiar those clear blue eyes were. Like rivers of glass, so fragile, so easy to break….. She tried once more to start again.  
”Once…...Once there..”   
She paused, her head hurt. And she didn't know why. Why was this happening?   
What was happening? She was drowning in her confusion, unable to swim through the sea of new memories that flooded her mind. She broke through the surface for a moment, just a few seconds, but a second was all it took. It was the psychic she realized, all those months before, rooting around her head, he had awoken something he shouldn't have, something inside her, something long forgotten, and it would not go back to bed.   
Memories were rushing at her. A tidal wave of her own history, Somehow so familiar and yet…....not.  
She Tried, she tried so hard to tell Steph, to tell them all what was happening to her. What had happened to her, but she couldn't. The version they wanted to hear was wrong! They wanted a story, a simple tale with a monster to hate, but she didn't have one. Real life was messy, her life was messy, it was gray and shifty and there was no good or evil, just bad and worse. They wanted hate, this family thrived on hate, they wanted Cain to be a monster, another villain they could vanquish, but the only monster she knew was herself.

No matter what they thought, she knew the truth. Father wasn't really bad, he could be good, great even. He had cared for her, protected her, raised her and hopefully, loved her. He hit, he kicked, he hurt, and hated, yet how much worse could it have been if he was not there? If he had not stopped aggressive trainers? If he had not cared for her in her infancy? She owed her life to him. Every breath she took, it belonged to him. She was an extension of him, she was him!!  
But they would not understand.   
Bruce could not understand that sometimes, parents who hurt still loved.   
Jason and Steph, sweet, sweet, Steph, they could not understand a child who had been hurt, still loving.   
She knew that their fathers were monsters, Drake, Row, Brown, Todd, all of them worse than the next. No one, no one should ever hurt a child, especially not her siblings.  
But her father was good. It was just different.   
She searched with her empty hand, unaware of what she's looking for until she found it.  
She caressed the side of Damian's face. Like someone had done to her all those years ago, and, for a second, thought his eyes blue.  
She stared into them, those frozen oceans, and heard the echoes of long forgotten laughter…..his true voice shook her out of her reverie.  
“Cass? Cass?”  
She blinked.   
“She doesn't have to tell us. It's none of our goddamn business why she was out there in that pond.” Urged Duke.  
There seemed to be a general sense of agreement amongst the family.   
They wanted to know what happend. But she didn't have to tell them  
Panic coiled in her stomach, and the weight of her past settled heavily back down on her shoulders. This childhood, that had been hers, and hers alone to bare…….  
It was killing her.  
She looked back at Damian, who was perhaps the only person in the room who could understand.   
Understand what it was like to fight to breathe, to take up space, to go to sleep with the knowledge that they had been victimised by the people that were supposed to protect them. That they still loved them anyway, that they had lived through hell and would never be given the answers as to why?   
But most importantly her little brother understood what it was like to bear the affection of someone who’s idea of love was torture.  
“No” Damian spoke softly. “She doesn't have to tell us, but she really wants to.”  
It was a burden she had to bear, but maybe, just maybe, she might not have to do it alone anymore. Maybe in this family, where the beds were alway warm, the food was always there, and love was never withheld…...It was okay to fall apart.  
Damian was there, to remind her of what she had fought for.  
Jason to guide her through it.  
Steph to comfort.  
Duke to make light of it.  
Alfred to listen,  
The family to protect.  
And dad to pick up the pieces and put her back together again.  
So she began.

Once upon a time there was a little girl, who, despite all his actions, loved her father very much. She was born into a hot summer night on an island, deep in the depths of a crystal ocean. It was a humid night, the kind of night where the very air pressed down upon the nape of your neck, and an inescapable dampness encased one’s skin.   
She came out of the darkness kicking and screaming, sobbing until her face turned red and she had to stop for breath. She released shrieks of outrage and joy for anyone who cared to listen.   
She wanted the world to hear her.   
Immediately upon her arrival, she learned to want. Want for food, for touch, for affection. She learned to sense. The air was hot and salty, the blanket soft, and the taste of the woman sweet. She saw the world in shades of gray. White and silver streaks of light running through her vision as the world blurred and she was lifted up, up off the soft blanket, and back onto the chest of the woman. It was warm here but she wondered where the blanket had gone, if she couldn't see it was it still there? She could see herself, the woman, the edge of the bed, the evidence of their existence was inescapable, but what happened next? When she looked away did they move? And why were they here?  
For five whole minutes she laid awkwardly in the crook of the woman's arms. Uneased by the silence, and cold detachment that radiated off of her. The delight she had felt at the warmth of contact and the sweetness of new life faded, replaced by a growing sense of dread. Coldness, the woman was cold. Was she supposed to be that cold? It didn't feel right, something was missing. But what?  
She began to cry, but the distance between the two only seemed to greaten. Water fell down the woman's face. Her terrified gaze falling directly back upon the little girl, she was looking through her like she was glass. Fragile and easy to break, the transparentness of her newborn eyes hiding the ghosts of dead ones.   
Her cries turned to screams, and she soon found herself plucked out of those indifferent arms and nestled into the safety of the man, her fathers, chest. She began to quiet down in this new warmth, the hands here were calloused, old with age, and they gently cradled her head in their arms, slowly rocking her to sleep. The warmth here was different; it only grew with time. It was steady and consistent, unlike the sad coldness of the woman that creeped along her spine.  
It was……...nice.  
This, she realized, was what she had been missing. This fire, it was love.  
It must be, she decided, the reason she was here at all. The man turned and she got another glimpse of the woman, short and lanky, with brown eyes and wavy black hair that was plastered to her forehead with sweat. The woman looked at her again, in the arms of her father, and something replaced the coldness inside, a fiery dislike, disgust, hatred. It was even worse than the indifference.   
The woman rolled over onto her side, turning her back to the little girl and they left, without so much as a word of goodbye.  
It was the last time she ever saw her mother.

Father was kind, with firm but gentle hands that could raise her into the sky or through her down, down, on the ground. It depended on her perfection.   
He had strong arms that he used to carry her far into the wilderness. In the first days of her life, they hiked and hiked, with each step pushing deeper into the darkness of the dense forest. The tree shifting and blurring in her vision until the streaks of gray and silver grew darker, faded, and were replaced with the richness life provided her.   
She saw her first color on that second night, strapped to her fathers back, she stared, mesmerized by a flash of black over a dark blue sky. It turned and twirled amongst the stars, the darkness of it's coat contrasting against the bright pinpricks of light that dotted the night sky. It swooped and a rush of anxiety seized her for the first time. What if it fell?  
It hurt to fall, didn't it?   
But her fears were assuaged when another shadow surged towards the animal, flying at speed. They walked onwards and she stared into the distance as a volley of young creatures joined the beast, and together, they flew out into the night sky.  
She released a breath.  
She later came to learn they were bats.

They moved onwards, father unaware of this new development, hiking until they stumbled out, into a clearing as wide as it was beautiful. It stretched out over the land, a soft green nursery for the new life of spring.   
It had a wild grove to the left, the edge thick with the sweet perfume of freshly ripening fruit, big thick bushels of holly lay on either side, a quiet brook ran down the right side and a lush grassy mat sprawled out over the majority of the clearing, soft and thick, perfect for the unsteady legs of the toddler to come, just learning to walk.  
It called to them, welcomed them with open arms. It was big and isolated, nurturing and soft, with clear boundaries on the edges that stood strong and firm, steadfast in it's warning not to cross them.   
In other words; it was perfect.   
He used his strong arms and rough hands to chop trees and gather stones, her development marked by the progress of the house.   
A frame and she could hold her head up and stare at the birds, a kitchen and she learned to roll over, falling from her back and landing with a gentle thud on the soft baby fat of her stomach.  
He finished the bedrooms and she crawled, reaching for a daisy just out of reach by the corner of the blanket.   
She learned to live and father worked, bit by bit raising a house from the earth until a stone cottage towered over her youth. Two stories high, with wood braces, covered in the blossoms of late summer flowers and leafy ivy.   
The roof was straw and by the time she could walk, it began to leak by the back of her bed. And sometimes, if she looked hard, she could see the faint rings of distant planets from the sil of her bedroom window.   
There in the grove, father taught her to crawl, to walk, to jump, to hit and run.   
In the summer they ran down the border of bushes, pulling down berries from their leafy branches. The girl, sneaking some, and both ignoring the pink juices that dribble down from the corners of her cherried lips.   
In the fall they made cider from the crab apples that grew in the grove, they jumped on beds, and drew pictures of plants in the dying light of a winter evening.   
They climbed trees together, ate together, slept together, played together. Any notion Of “I” and “He” faded, it was them, together.   
They had never been apart, she had never not sensed the comfort of that watchful eye on her back, she had never strayed from the edges of the meadow, never been refused comfort or hugs.   
And so what could have been a lonely existence, instead became a lovely one.   
They crafted boats out of branches to sail in the pond, built a fort, high up in the trees, so that she could watch the birds sing in the morning sunrise. They made lanterns, soft with the glow of fireflies, and waded through the brook, splashing each other as they searched for the shadows of tadpoles in the few spare minutes before supper.  
In the winter, when it was too cold to go outside and play, and snow covered the earth like a soft white blanket. She would sit on his feet as he sewed new clothes out of old sheets by the fire. And then she'd dance in a dress made from pillowcases in the gentle light of a thousand flickering candles.   
They did anything and everything together, but by far her favorite thing to do was watch the stars.   
In the middle of the night, when even the songbirds had long since fallen asleep, and all that was left was the soft chirps of a lonely cricket. They would creep out of bed, a trail of blankets and stolen treats disturbing the long grass behind them.   
Father would blow out all the candles with a quiet rush of air that escaped from his lips and she would run around the meadow, trying, fruitlessly, to catch all the fireflies so that their soft glow would not scare away the stars.   
Father was the best at setting the picnic blanket, and she lay still, stiff as a board, as he used his wrist to flick the sheet high up with a loud snap. And she watched intently as it gently fell down, down, down. Until there was an inch of air between her and the material, and it landed on her nose so gently she'd sneeze!   
Then again, and again, she’d slap the ground with her tiny fists and wiggle her toes until up went the sheet and it was falling down, down, down, all over again! The thrill of safety and danger pulled at her heart, and she’d scrunch her face with terrified delight until father magically knew it was time, and then they'd go sit down on the blanket. Her naming the different constellations with her hands until the sky got greedy and swallowed the moon; and she had to stand on her tippy toes and beg it to come back. Or a sneaky star would fly across the sky; and she had to close her eyes really tight and try to think of a want she could not have.   
She could never think of anything.   
And yes, They trained together, they trained, from dawn till dusk, in heat, in cold, in painful ways that she later learned were terribly, terribly wrong. But the pain was born from love, and love alone.   
And around her pain, her abuse, her loss of innocence, was childhood.   
In the absence of the life she could have had, the life she should have had. Something else was born. An unfortunate series of events, destined to create an unbreakable spirit, a sharp intelligence, and a kind smile. There was something in her, something that was integrally her, something created in that time of light to carry with her through the dark. And The darkness of those shadows only made the light seem that much brighter, and father, kinder.   
These memories, these precious few memories, are the strong arms that would carry her when father could not, they were the shoulders, strong enough to carry the burden of what came after the end of light, they where the good times

She grew rapidly, rising with the cherry trees that blew in the cool breeze of the meadow. The leaves turned to snow, and the snow, to rain. Until the rubbery skin of her infancy that had cushioned her falls when she roled, and eased her knees when she crawled, gave way to chubby legs and arms thick with baby fat. Perfect for waddling through the trees hunting for flowers. Boats, stars, cider, sheets, seasons passed and the little girl grew taller, faster, smarter.  
She learned new things, lost old ones, and gained more. But as much as her childhood was similar to others, it was different.   
She had no name, there was no need for one, the intent to call for her was enough to make her follow. For her, a look was all it took to understand, and she was never not looking.   
She grew, and grew; and as all things do, the time came for more.   
More instruction, more communication, more complexity.   
So a new kind of language was formed, nouns, verbs, simple adjectives, like slow or fast.   
It was easy to understand, but she was intelligent, and hungry for knowledge. Hungry for something more, and she built upon what father gave her.   
She, like other children, learned new words with each passing day, but her words were different. Her words, her world, was formed in the tensing of muscles, the static electricity that crackled through her brain and into her legs that spoke of joy, curiosity, and surprise.   
Lungs, muscles, bones,   
skin, fingers and groans,   
they all moved and spoke with intent.   
She learned to speak the language, showing with her body, the punctuation in her face. The pause between her expressions, or a sudden change in direction, marking the transition from “New, Happy” to “New, Dislike”.   
Her hunger for more drove her forwards, spurring her onwards, and soon she was far more proficient in language than any speaking child would be.   
The ability to read people coming naturally to her, like some ancient memory of a time before words had been unleashed, and the link between her, and her ancestors in the earth strengthened. They breathed the hot rush of humanity into her the moment she was born, imbuing her with their long forgotten language, and she, into them, breathed the air of new life, carrying the ghosts of their traditions into the modern world.  
The elimination of vocal cords, tense, subject, conjugation, or lung control, pushed her onward, past her peer group, into a class of her own.  
By two she was the master of a language beautiful and complex in it's own right.   
Accomplished in an art form lost to time and terror.   
It should have been lonely, it certainly could have been lonely, if it were not for father. He saw what she was doing to language and allowed it, learned with her, or some may say, from her.   
They jumped into isolation together, clutching the other as they became separate from humanity, living, breathing, speaking, something, somewhere else.   
Until it seemed near impossible for the little girl to ever live a life amongst the rest of humanity.   
He loved it.   
Father was something different, something better than the rest of mankind. The species he was born to were pathetic. They let feelings and empathy govern their lives, and they found themselves defenseless because of it.   
That burning fire of love all that children are born with dimmed in him over time. Until all that was left was the shadows of dead flames, and the crackles of hateful embers, and he couldn't find love for anyone but himself.   
He tried, he tried to gift humanity with his brilliance, the dull dispondance that fosters greatness, but they shunned him, feared him and his excellence, so he retreated into himself. He ran experiment after failed experiment to create a companion, an equal, but they all failed.   
And again, like in his youth, he turned back to the importance of blood.   
Blood was the great unequalizer, the tool that set apart the excellent from the turning masses of the long celebrated ignorant.  
He realized that he was the last of a dying bloodline, and an equal did not exist, no one was as great as him, to ask them to try would be cruel; so he would have to create an extension of himself.   
He devised a plan, one born of murder and pain, he stole a young girl, 19, maybe 20, barely a woman, but of optimal child baring age.   
She was a promising fighter from Michigan, lithe and fiery with a passion to change the world. Long legs, flexible, quick reaction times, intelligent and unassuming in her small stature, she was the perfect host.   
He isolated her, broke her like he had the others until she had no emotion, and then he burned her down, raising from the ashes a daughter, a champion, finally, an equal. She was to be the perfect successor to his brutal dynasty, she was both pain and joy, a phoenix born from fire. And for the first time in possibly forever, a flame flickered in his heart, rising from the ashes just as his daughter had.   
For the first time, he felt the heat of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I have a schedule to start posting at least every Friday, if not on like Monday as well, when boredom strikes.  
> The chapters should get longer from here on out, and the 30 chapter mark was just an estimate, I'm starting to think this could go into the 60's. IDK I'm bad at planning things out, please don't ask me too.
> 
> (also shout out to my DELIGHTFUL new beta, who is really the brains of this whole operation)
> 
> Goodbye my lovelies!

**Author's Note:**

> No Batman did not abandon her, he was going to get help or a tranquilizer gun, he wasn't quite sure yet.
> 
> No I was not random tagging. Everyone's going to appear or be mentioned in this at some point (also unfortunately, If you don't mention at least one popular character, you will inevitably be buried under a sea of other fics)
> 
> This takes place sometime after "Is it really drowning if you haven't touched the water?" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390097)  
> and before "Of stormy nights and sorrows" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359071)
> 
> I'm going to move into a gray era of Dick/Todds Robin run for the origin story
> 
> If you haven't read is it really drowning, I recommend you do, You might get a better feel for the dynamics in this, and an understanding of Cass's obsession with water (which will be explained later)
> 
> Come chat with me on my tumblr (I like to post polls, and cryptic spiolers on my fics to annoy and or entertain ppl):https://and-the-world-is-quiet-here.tumblr.com/


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